


Soundsystemkultur

by Asallia



Category: Love Live! School Idol Project, Love Live! Sunshine!!
Genre: AU, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Music, F/F, LGBTQ Themes, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Other, Slow Burn, Trans Character, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, kanan is the enby icon we don't deserve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-19
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-07-23 13:53:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16160237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Asallia/pseuds/Asallia
Summary: Dia Kurosawa is the owner of the famously exclusive nightclub Aqours, managing it alongside her sound technician Kanan. When she begins to lose customers to her main rival μ’s, her only course of action is to hire tabloid-staple DJ Mari Ohara for help.She'd really rather not.





	1. Side A

**Author's Note:**

> My biggest love in life has always been electronic music, admittedly, and I thought it’d be a lot of fun to combine that with my interest in writing into something new and different. This weird little universe was the result. As for the release schedule, I'm experimenting a bit - I'll be bundling together a few shorter chapters at a time as I finish them. I've been struggling to finish fics before I start uploading, so my hope is that this will kick my ass into gear (no guarantees). Anyways, hope you enjoy!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dia needs a nap. Kanan needs a raise. Mari needs a job.

-Track 01 (Intro)-

Outside of a nondescript door in the heart of downtown Kobe, so inconspicuous as to normally go entirely unnoticed by the average person, a line snakes far down the street. Despite the cold autumn weather, none of the people in the line are wearing any kind of outerwear; rather, the crowd is dressed largely in outfits that seem to exist halfway between garish ravewear and more subdued fashion. Even so, their shivers reveal the truth of the weather as the chilly bite of the wind sweeps by them.

“How many?”

Between the line and the door, only a single person stands. She can easily be told apart from the rest of the crowd, holding a clipboard and dressed in a tightly-cut black suit that perfectly complements her imposing figure. Though no one could possibly see the definition of the muscles underneath, she seems to have absolutely no problem keeping the crowd in order without lifting a finger or raising her voice.

A man steps forward from the front of the line towards her, visibly sweating despite not wearing more than a dress shirt and pants.

“Just one. I’ve always wanted to visit Aqours, I can’t believe I-“

“Rejected.” The woman smiles and raises a hand to brush a lock of ashen hair from her face, as casual as could be.

“E- excuse me? Why?” The man looks visibly shocked.

“Well,” the woman deliberates for a brief moment, “you can’t even pronounce the name of the club right. And those clothes? Come on, you can do a lot better than that. This is Aqours,” she says, gesturing katakana as she purposefully enunciates each syllable: _A. Ku. A._ “Not some after-work gathering. So, better luck next time.” She points with the pencil in the direction he had spent so long waiting in, leaving him to walk away dejectedly towards a side-street where multiple cabs are waiting to take home those like him.

She always feels a little bad when rejecting anyone so casually, but never too bad – everyone waiting in line knew exactly what to expect when they came here tonight. Possibly one out of ten people in the line will even be allowed in at all, and You Watanabe is the sole arbiter of that fate.

Still… there aren’t enough people in this line to weed out the way she usually does. In the recent weeks, she’s had the same conversation with her boss multiple times over:

 _“We either need to start advertising aggressively or we need to loosen our door policy,”_ You had pleaded. _“We lose every bit of cultural capital we have if the customers start to notice the club looking empty at peak hours.”_

 _“We’ll do either of those things when we’re both rotting in hell, Watanabe-san,”_ her boss had said with a completely straight face.

Dia Kurosawa doesn’t fuck around, unfortunately for the club.

Something taps You’s shoulder just as she’s readying to call the next group. She knows exactly who it is without looking and breathes a sigh of relief at _anything_ to break up the monotony of the night – that it’s her girlfriend is icing on the cake. It hasn’t particularly been a stunning crowd so far, after all.

“How’s it going tonight?” As she turns around to meet the voice coming from behind her, You sees Yoshiko leaning against the door frame with a dark purple cocktail in hand; a single obsidian feather sticks out as garnish.

You cracks a grin as she happily takes the drink in her hand. “Better now that I have this.” She takes a sip, savoring the sweetness mixed with the burn of the gin as the concoction slides down her throat. It’s a welcome reprieve from the cold. “Wouldn’t be a Friday night without a Fallen Angel, would it?”

“Well, Yohane wouldn’t want to disappoint her favorite little demon with any old cocktail, now would she?”

You groans as Yoshiko strikes her signature pose, but they both know she’s enjoying the show.

“Tone it down or you’re going to scare the customers off, babe.”

“Well, my demonic charm doesn’t seem to have scared _you_ off yet,” Yoshiko coos.

You rolls her eyes but leans in to plant a short peck on her girlfriend’s lips. Yoshiko had long ago embraced her ‘fallen angel’ image to compensate for her shyness when she had gotten this job; You finds the eccentric act endearing.

“Go get Riko to pay attention to you, alright? Her shift ends in fifteen, I doubt she has anything better to do than sitting at the bar. Besides, Kanan-kun will chew us out if they find out that you’ve been bringing me drinks again.”

Yoshiko visibly pouts. “Like they actually give a shit.”

“Of course they don’t,” You clarifies, “but they care if Dia-san cares. And Dia-san _definitely_ cares if her bartender is going M.I.A.” She flicks Yoshiko’s forearm with her pencil. “Don’t let the door hit you on the way in!”

Yoshiko sticks her tongue out before heading back inside.

As she’s left to her job once again, You takes one more sip of her drink before sitting it down. In the brisk night air, the low thump of a techno beat emanating from within the club mingles with the sound of crickets and idle chatter outside. It’s a serene soundscape, one that she could lose herself in every night.

You wouldn’t trade this job for the world.

* * *

-Track 02-

Dia fucking hates this job.

 _Take over the club,_ her parents said. _You can handle it_ , her parents said.

Maybe they were right, and sure, maybe she doesn’t _actually_ hate it.

It’s just that she’d rather listen to anything other than the thump of a kick drum for ten hours straight. It makes her paranoid that her hair is greying at 25. All she wants is to just relax in her bed at home with some Mozart, a glass of wine, and the romance novel that’s busy collecting dust on her nightstand.

Even that pleasant thought, though, is interrupted when the sound of music begins to be drowned out by a loud ringing from the dancefloor.

Dia groans, putting in earplugs and adjusting her suit as she steps out of her office to see what the problem is. She’s immediately greeted by the sight of Kanan plunging into the mob of dancers in the direction of the DJ booth with a scowl on their face. Thankfully, many of the patrons can’t even seem to tell that the feedback isn’t part of the set – they just keep on dancing away, blissfully ignorant.

After exiting out the other side of the crowd, Kanan steps behind one of the largest speakers, hastily turning knobs and pressing buttons until the ear-piercing noise resides. As they emerge once again, they shoot Dia a _look_ and gesture towards the office Dia had just come from.

Dia flashes Kanan a sympathetic smile in turn before walking back to the entrance. Kanan follows closely, closing the door behind them. They wear a faded tank top with a logo for a band that has long since been worn beyond recognition, their hair dyed a deep ocean blue and cropped short.

“This speaker system is shit, Dia.”

Dia raises her eyebrows and gives Kanan a pointed glare, which they immediately pick up on with a grumble.

“This speaker system is shit, Dia _-san._ ”

Pleased with the correction, Dia walks to her desk, the sharp clicking of her heels against the hardwood echoing through the room. She takes out her earplugs, an expensive pair designed for musicians, and returns them to a small, carved wooden box that sits on her desk.

“I was told that the system is hard to optimize, Kanan-san, but the results spoke for themselves when I heard them in action.”

She had gone on a tour of clubs in the States just a few months ago to research equipment and club layouts, immediately ordering this system as soon as she had heard it during her stop in Detroit – it was the birthplace of techno, after all, Aqours’ bread and butter. _They_ have _to know what they’re doing here_ , she had thought at the time. Though the manufacturer had warned her of putting such a precise system in a club with poor acoustics like Aqours, Dia knew Kanan could figure it out.

“A bit of feedback is something we can deal with, is it not?”

“You mean something _I have_ to deal with.”

Dia smiles slyly at Kanan. “Exactly.”

Kanan takes a seat in front of the desk, letting their legs spread out in a lax position that displays the ripped fabric of their jeans. Dia tries not to stare. “You know, Leah-san didn’t look particularly thrilled about the interruption. She was _seething_ when I looked at the DJ booth.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll talk to her. The Kazunos can handle a few technical difficulties,” she assures Kanan with a warm smile. Leah and Sarah are old family friends that have been DJing in Aqours for years; she trusts them to make it work. “Just do your job and let me handle the rest.”

Kanan gives her a look, the same one they gave after the problem first occurred. “If that was actually how this worked, you wouldn’t be paying me a third of what you do right now.”

Dia doesn’t respond to that, knowing perfectly well that Kanan is much more than her sound technician at this point. Instead, Kanan takes the opening to keep talking.

“By the way, I talked to You-chan at the start of the night. She says you’re still insistent that she turn away as many people as usual.”

“That is true, yes.”

“Are you serious?” Kanan asks incredulously.

“This is Aqours, Kanan-san. We cannot just let anyone in, no matter what circumstances dictate. We are an institution, and institutions don’t budge.”

What Dia doesn’t say is that she refuses to sully the legacy that her parents left for her – to do anything of the sort would be to fail them as their daughter and successor. The club has been around for longer than either of them have been alive, after all, and its exclusivity is part of why. A landmark, an institution, whatever Dia wants to call it; Aqours is bigger than petty things like _not having customers._

At least, that’s what Dia wishes were the case.

“If you’re that insistent, Dia-san, then we need to talk about the elephant in the room.”

Dia sours at the thought of having this conversation again. “We are not going to talk about that… that _traitor_ ,” she hisses.

“Well that traitor is packing µ’s as we speak, so you need to face the music.”

Dia sinks into her chair, sullen. Their star DJ, Kira Tsubasa, had been bought out of her contract a month prior by their god-forsaken rival.

 _µ’s isn’t even that good of a club_ , Dia bitterly thinks. It’s too open, too bright, too sanitized. There’s no personality, no ambiance. Plus, if anyone and their grandmother can get in somewhere, Dia doesn’t see the point in going. Clearly, though, the public doesn’t agree.

As it all stands, Dia has been facing a singular conclusion about the club and its owner: _if Eli Ayase can throw around that much money right now, Aqours is royally fucked._

“… Dia?” Kanan’s voice suddenly registers in Dia’s mind, and she realizes that she’s been zoning out for some amount of time.

“What was that?”

Kanan sighs. “I was asking you if you liked any of my recommendations for a replacement.”

Dia’s eyes flick over to a large pile of papers on the corner of her desk, a list of almost two dozen DJs specializing in techno that Riko, her talent agent, had scouted for her around Japan.

“No, none of them have the energy that Aqours requires.” She doesn’t elaborate, not wishing for Kanan to figure out that she had barely taken ten minutes to reject them all outright. They all had talent, sure, but talent is a dime a dozen these days. She needs a DJ that speaks to her on a gut level _and_ has the clout needed to draw in a tangible amount of patrons, talent be damned.

“Good.”

Now Dia’s confused.

Kanan reaches across the desk to grab the stack of papers, winking at Dia as their face comes close to Dia’s own. Dia tries to hide the blush that blooms on her cheeks while Kanan turns to dump all of the papers in the wastebasket at their side.

“I’ve been meaning to find the right time to show you something. Can I get on your computer?”

Dia nods, wheeling her chair to the side so that Kanan can lean over in front of the computer.

After opening a new browser tab, Kanan searches for a video: “ _ohara berghain 2018_ ”. When the clip starts, it’s hard to make anything out except for some distorted bass notes and the footage of people dancing. Dia would instantly recognize the setting, however, even if Kanan hadn’t given it away with their search term; this is the Berghain, the world’s most famous techno club. Any club owner worth their salt knows everything there is to know about this place, Dia included.

That means she knows this person is taking footage with the risk of being thrown out if caught, and that risk gets her attention. The quality gets a bit better after a minute, thankfully, when the camera is trained on the person in the DJ booth.

Easily visible is a blonde woman wearing an obnoxiously sequined rave outfit and glittery makeup, bouncing up and down as the track plays and stopping occasionally to do the things DJs normally do – mess with effects and filters, shout random things into the mic, whatever.

Dia doesn’t really know or care, if she’s to be honest – she’s hardly the target audience here.

Still, the woman looks frustratingly familiar. It’s the golden locks of hair, the vague accent…

“Am I supposed to know who this is?”

Kanan looks at her with a bemused expression. “Aren’t you supposed to know these things? She’s playing at the fucking _Berghain_ and you don’t recognize her?”

“Just get on with it and tell me, Kanan-san,” Dia huffs.

“That’s _Mari Ohara._ ”

_Ohara…_

“No way.”

That’s _Mari Ohara_ , heir of the Ohara hotel conglomerate. That’s _Mari Ohara_ , the girl who got bored of being paparazzi-bait two years ago and decided to buy her way into the DJ world. She had been _wildly_ successful; today, her name is hardly a secret to anyone with their ear to the EDM scene.

“What, do you really think I like the idea any more than you do?”

Dia turns off the computer screen and glares at Kanan. “We are _not_ hiring some mega-bitch heiress to fill our most important residency.”

“We need her, Dia.”

“Dia- _san!_ ”

Kanan throws their arms up in frustration. “Fine, _Dia-san_ ,” they say through gritted teeth, “let your parents’ hard work go to waste because you’re too good for a fucking DJ.”

Dia flinches at that. “Do not bring my parents into this, Kanan-san.”

“Look, I…” Kanan softens and puts a hand on Dia’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “I’m just trying to remind you of the stakes here. She has _presence_. Sure, it’s no secret she pays people to handle her sets and ghost her, but there aren’t many people out there drawing crowds like she does. She makes people like Tsubasa-chan look small time.”

“She can’t understand what makes this place special, Kanan-san. I don’t want to ruin what I’ve created here.”

Kanan sighs. “Again, this is our best chance at keeping Aqours alive. It doesn’t matter how great it is if we’re all out a job.”

“This is ridiculous,” Dia grumbles. “I can’t believe we’re talking about this like it would even be a possibility. How do you even propose we get her?” She gestures at the now-black computer monitor, as if Mari Ohara would still be dancing away on it without a care in the world.

Kanan drops an envelope onto Dia’s desk. “I’m telling you all this because she’s moving back to Japan in two weeks after living in Berlin for _years_ – and she’s looking for a club. Her agent just sent out a notice to every techno joint worth knowing in the Kansai region about it, Riko got one a few hours ago.”

“And what makes you think we have the cash on hand to bid for a contract?”

Kanan furls their brow. “That’s the thing, there’s no bidding. She’s asking for a price just barely above what we were paying Tsubasa-chan.”

“That’s… interesting.” It means that she’s not looking for money – not that she’d need any more than she has. If it’s influence she’s looking for, Aqours has that in spades. It was one of the only big-name clubs to come up in the bubble economy and survive the crash, after all. It’s been around a long time, and someone like Ohara has a lot to gain from that legitimacy.

Dia’s not sure if that’s a good or a bad thing considering the circumstances, but she’s willing to swallow her pride for a bit, regardless.

“Alright, I’ll tell Riko-san to put together a proposal for her agent. I’ll keep you updated.” She puts a hand to her mouth in order to cover a yawn that escapes. “Until then, I might rest my eyes for a minute.”

Kanan smiles knowingly before getting up and moving to the door. “Right, I’ll get the door behind me then.” Before the door shuts, though, they poke their head back inside once more. “Thanks for giving this a shot.”

Dia just barely catches the words before she’s out like a light, head flat on her desk.

* * *

 -Track 03-

After waking up and then promptly dragging herself to her apartment for a few quick hours of proper sleep, Dia wakes up at 5pm feeling even more exhausted than the morning before. Her apartment is appallingly sparse, owing to the fact that her office at Aqours is much more lived in – anything of emotional value has been placed there, while this apartment contains little more than her basic furniture, a television, and a fully stocked kitchen that she desperately wishes she used more. Still, a true Kurosawa has never been stopped by anything as silly as _self-care_ or _real food_ , so she grabs a pop-tart after hastily getting ready for the night and meanders back to the club.

No rest for the wicked, as it were.

Besides, it’s a Sunday: the day of the week when the Western tourists start crawling back onto their planes after a weekend of partying and the locals start showing their heads. It’s going to be a busy night, one of the only ones Dia can count on in any given week as of late – she treats it with the according respect.

At the same time, however, Dia has something else to take care of, as much as it pains her to admit it. She can’t balance the books in a way that secures Aqours’ future and her only lead on how to change that is currently a trashy DJ that might not even be interested. Dia needs help and she’s desperate not to ask her parents for advice, which only leaves one option: she needs to visit her mentor.

As Dia approaches Aqours, she racks her brain trying to think of the logistics of visiting. Should she go alone? No, she needs backup. _There’s always Kanan…_

“Dia-san! Good morning!” Dia is frustrated when her concentration is broken, but that quickly fades when she sees You saluting her. She’s always had a soft spot for her bouncer.

“Ah, good morning. How are you today?”

“Good, now that Kanan-kun has told me we might be getting a famous DJ!” You exclaims with a grin.

_Good fucking lord, Kanan._

“Don’t believe everything you hear, You-san. Nothing is guaranteed and I’m not entirely sure I even want the DJ they’re proposing.”

Now You frowns. “If we get an opportunity like that and you say no, I’m going to double down on the calls to action, you know.” You is referring to her repeated proposals to loosen entry requirements, Dia knows, but she still won’t budge. Not on this.

Instead of telling You that, however, Dia simply gives her a calculated smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

You shrugs. “Alright, your funeral. Have a good one, boss!”

When Dia steps inside the club and passes into the central room, she’s relieved to hear the low thrum of a garage bassline echoing through the uncrowded club. When she had taken over the business, her first act had been to set aside three hours in the late afternoon – directly after the previous night’s crowd usually tends to finish dispersing – for chillout sets. She partnered with an indie UK garage label in Osaka to bring in the DJ talent, giving the local music scene some exposure and giving her a few hours of blessed reprieve from the incessant pounding of techno beats when she comes in to work. It’s a win-win situation, in her book. She could never stand any kind of EDM or popular music in general, instead preferring the elegance of an orchestra or the subtle nuance of downtempo electronica.

A four-on-the-floor beat has no depth, she thinks, when compared to real artistry. Kanan tells her that’s because she’s a _“giant fucking snob”_ , but she won’t be dissuaded.

Dia flicks her eyes across the room, taking in the scenery while she searches for the technician in question. The club is mostly quiet, currently, with a number of patrons chatting away over drinks at tables and the bar while a few stragglers from the previous night still dance away. Dia had put a lot of work into renovating the place to be atmospheric, and she likes to think that the changes are most worth it on peaceful afternoons such as this one.

Two huge aquariums, one on each side, hug the walls of the club. Both are filled with a variety of exotic saltwater fish purchased from around the world – she pays multiple people exclusively to care for the tanks. It’s worth the money, though. They lend the room an ethereal nature, exuding rippling waves of blue light across the dancefloor and making one feel like they’ve been transported deep underwater. It makes Dia feel at home – her family had been in the maritime industry before the collapse of the business caused them to enter the entertainment industry, after all. The ocean is in her blood.

When she finally spots Kanan at the bar, she makes her way over. They’re talking with Riko and Yoshiko, but the conversation grinds to a halt when they notice Dia approaching.

“I’m sorry, am I interrupting?” Dia raises her eyebrows, but Kanan waves a dismissive hand.

“We were just talking about you behind your back,” they joke. “Don’t worry.”

“Hmmph.” Dia sits down in the stool next to Kanan so that they’re situated between her and Riko, directly across the bar from Yoshiko. “A club soda with lime, please.”

Yoshiko lets out a theatrical groan. “When will you order something more exciting than this stuff?”

“In case you haven’t noticed, Yoshiko-san, I’m _on the job_ when I’m here.”

Yoshiko seems to take that as a challenge, deepening her voice and adopting what Dia presumes is supposed to be an intimidating stance. “Well, any of my good little demons knows that there’s always time for one of Yohane’s signature drinks.”

Dia glares daggers at her. “Have you been serving my employees drinks on the job, Yoshiko-san?”

Suddenly she looks much more meek. _That’s better_ , Dia thinks with a controlled smile.

“No, ma’am,” Yoshiko mutters under her breath before quickly eyeing the bar for customers. “Sorry, ma’am.” She soon scurries off, leaving Dia alone with Kanan and Riko.

“Damn, you’ve really got her whipped.” Kanan looks thoroughly amused as they take a sip of the coke in front of them. “I don’t think anyone else could put the fear of god into a girl that proclaims herself a _fallen angel_.”

Dia looks at them and lets her smile grow a bit. “Well, celestial or not, she needs to remember who she’s dealing with.”

“I submitted our materials to Mari Ohara’s agent, Dia-san.” Leaning past Kanan is Riko, looking entirely business-oriented. She wears a somewhat conservative purple blouse and skirt combo that compliments the deep red hues of her hair and sits with perfect posture, contrasting Kanan’s slouched-over pose and worn hoodie.

“Ah, thank you. How are you, Riko-san?”

Riko smiles warmly. “I’m doing well! Yocchan and I were just telling Kanan-kun about a band that she took me and You to see last weekend.” She launches into a detailed description of the gothic metal group, their name some unpronounceable English that passes through Dia’s ears.

The three of them make a unique couple. Dia has always thought that, and the idea of them seeing a band like that makes it all the more clear. Dia knows them all well enough to know that You would have simply been interested in partying, while Yoshiko would have been enamored by their dark aesthetic and Riko would have focused entirely on the minutia of the music. An interesting dynamic, to be certain, but a cute one. It warms Dia’s heart knowing that she facilitated their relationship by hiring them all, though she would never admit it. She has an image to maintain, after all.

When Riko finally finishes talking, Dia smiles softly at her. “I’m glad the three of you had a nice time, Riko-san. You all deserve the chance to unwind.” Riko looks positively thrilled at the praise, a rare thing from Dia.

“I deserve to unwind too, you know,” Kanan jokingly whines between them.

Dia turns to them. “Funny you should mention that. Kanan-san, you’re going with me somewhere. We’ll leave in fifteen.”

“I- what? You can’t just spring that on me, Dia-san,” they grumble. “I told Chika I would help her with the lighting system in a bit.”

“Chika-san will live,” Dia states plainly. She doesn’t plan to leave Kanan room to wiggle out of this. “Besides, it was your idea, not mine. See you in fifteen.” She walks back to her office without looking at Kanan, but she doesn’t need to. That cute, discontented look they get whenever she messes with them is ingrained in her mind.

When she re-emerges, Kanan is leaning against a wall near the door staring at their phone before looking up at Dia expectantly.

“Thank god, I thought you’d never come out. Can you tell me where we’re going now?”

Dia tuts, adjusting the grip on the briefcase she’s carrying. “Patience is a virtue, you know.”

“I’m not dignifying that with a reply.”

Dia smiles as they exit out into the crisp autumn air. There’s a light breeze that ruffles Dia’s hair, much to her dismay, but she resists the urge to try and immediately fix it. There’s no chance she won’t be frazzled by the end of the evening, anyways.

They quickly set off through the back alleys of Kobe, threading through crowds of locals and tourists shopping in the various stores that fill up the neighborhood. When they turn their third corner, though, Dia hears Kanan’s footsteps cease. They’ve undoubtably pieced together where they’re heading.

“Dia, are you fucking kidding?”

Dia turns around, her confidence faltering for a fleeting second. She hates having to ask Kanan to come with her, which is why she had waited until they were almost there to say anything.

“I need to talk with her.” She notices that she had forgotten to correct the lack of an honorific in her name, but that’s not important enough right now.

“You really want to talk to Eli-san after the stunt she pulled with Tsubasa-chan? Do you think _she_ wants to?”

_Do I really have a choice?_

“It’s water under the bridge, Kanan-san.” Dia has to place both hands on the handle of her briefcase in order to stop herself from scratching her beauty mark.

It still hurts a lot. She won’t deny that fact to herself, but she’s willing to swallow her pride for the club – that seems to be her modus operandi as of late.

“I just…” Dia shifts uncomfortably, not wishing to be as transparent as she’s making herself to them. “I just need to know you’re nearby. It would mean a lot.”

Kanan eyes her suspiciously, although Dia notices their features soften at the admission. “Fine, christ. You owe me, though.”

Dia nods in affirmation, and once again they set off. Within only two minutes, however, they arrive at a door similar to Aqours’ own. It hardly draws attention, but unlike Aqours the sign announcing its presence is much more visible. Lit up in bright pink neon is two characters: _µ’s_.

No one is waiting outside of the entrance, which is typical for the early afternoon, although a single woman stands outside. Though she wears a suit like You, she carries herself in a much more formal manner. It lends her the appearance of a time-lost samurai in the service of her daimyo.

As they approach, Dia offers a curt bow. “Sonoda-san.”

Umi Sonoda eyes them suspiciously, as if attempting to read their intentions from the way that they carry themselves. It’s always put Dia off, especially now.

“Kurosawa-san. Matsuura-san.” She looks at them both in turn, giving her own brief bows. “I’m afraid I’m not allowed to let you in.”

Dia wasn’t expecting that.

“You’re kidding me.”

Umi shrugs. “Orders are orders.”

“Told you,” Kanan mutters under their breath. Dia contemplates elbowing them, but decides her image is more important than her satisfaction.

She pulls out her phone briskly, swiping through her contacts until she reaches the ‘N’ section and calls one of the names.

_Ring… ring… ring…_

_“Nozomi Tojo!”_

Nozomi Tojo: Eli’s wife, floor manager, and Dia’s eternal tormentor.

“Did you _ban_ me?”

 _“Ah, Dia-chan!_ ” Dia grits her teeth. _Don’t say anything, Kurosawa._ _“It’s been so long, how’s my favorite little business owner?”_

“I would be much better if you’d answer my question.”

_“Well, I can’t have our main competition scouting us out, can I?”_

“You act like I didn’t just kick out one of your surrogates last week.”

_“All’s fair in love and business, Dia-chan!”_

Dia sighs, adjusting her grip on the phone. “I just want to talk to Eli-sensei, that’s all.”

_“Oh, you do? Well, that’s tempting. I can’t deny my Elicchi her favorite protégé, after all.”_

“… May I come in, then?” Dia looks at Umi expectantly, but she just shrugs once again.

_“Maybe… if you’ll call me Nozomi-sensei.”_

Dia nearly gags. “Are you serious?”

 _“What? I’ve never had anyone call me their sensei before,”_ Nozomi whines.

“You sound like Nico-san right now.”

In the corner of her eye, she sees Umi try to restrain a laugh – Dia has never even seen her _smile_ before.

 _“Ouch…”_ There’s a brief pause before Nozomi speaks up once again. _“Fine, I’ve taken you off the blacklist. Elicchi is in her office. Have fun!”_

“That’s more like it, thank you.” Dia hangs up the phone immediately; she’d rather spend as little time as possible having Nozomi toy with her.

And just like that, Umi’s phone vibrates. After she glances at it, she waves them both through. They descend the staircase into the club, where bright neons light up the dancefloor and create a carefree atmosphere. Dia hates it, but she can’t deny that the bubbly appearance does the club wonders in making itself approachable. That’s always been Eli’s motto, after all: _everyone’s welcome here._ Aside from the addendum that _everyone_ means _21 and over_ , she’s always meant it.

Dia doesn’t see the benefit in allowing the _rabble_ in, but it does make µ’s quite a bit of money.

As they approach the owner’s office, Kanan pats Dia on the back. “I’m going to see if I can spot Maki-chan anywhere,” they say. “I might as well ask her for some opinions on our new stereo setup.”

Dia knows that Kanan is just trying to get out of having to talk to Eli, but she waves them off anyways, comfortable knowing that Kanan is around just in case she winds up needing the support. Dia knocks hesitantly at the door. She and Eli haven’t talked in… a year, maybe? She had hoped back then that she wouldn’t ever need to again, but here she is anyways.

She flinches when the door creaks open, but she loosens up when she sees the soft smile of her old mentor.

“Ah, Dia-san! Please, come in.”

* * *

 -Track 04 (Interlude)-

When Kanan finally spots a bright red head of hair towards the back corner of the club, they feel relieved for the first time all day. While they want to support Dia, Kanan hates the mind games that these business types get up to with each other; as much as Dia puts Eli on a pedestal, Eli’s the _master_ of mind games.

Or maybe that’s why Dia puts her on a pedestal – it makes Kanan’s brain hurt trying to figure out these people. Techies, in their experience, are much more straightforward. They like straightforward.

“Hey, Maki-chan!” They grin and wave, hurrying over to where Maki is hunched over some DJ equipment. “Damn, what happened there?”

Now that they stand immediately in front of it, they see how busted up the equipment is. A sample pad and a set of CDJs lay shattered on the floor, with Maki staring bewildered.

She seems grateful for the interruption, though, and stands up before putting her hands on her hips. “Hey, Kanan.” She rolls her eyes melodramatically. “Honoka happened.”

Kanan crouches, picking up a busted piece of metal. “Yikes.”

“Yeah. If everyone knew how expensive this stuff was,” Maki says, “people like her wouldn’t play around near the DJ booth.”

“Well, good thing they’ve got you, yeah?” Kanan flashes her a thumbs up.

Maki just groans, though, and gestures them to a nearby empty booth after quickly signaling a janitor to clean up the mess. They both sit down opposite of each other, Kanan happy to sink into the soft cushion.

“You know, I never did get to thank you properly for recommending me to Eli.” Maki looks almost embarrassed to be thanking Kanan, doing her best not to make eye contact.

“It was no trouble at all,” Kanan reassures her.

The two of them had known each other since their time in college, when they had both been music technology majors furiously studying with the hopes of working in live sound someday. Maki had given up a promising career in medicine to pursue that dream, royally pissing off her parents in the process. Kanan knows how much passion someone has to have to set their own course like Maki had, and they admire it.

It also doesn’t hurt that Maki was one of the only people to not keep them at arm’s length or treat them like a fragile object when they came out as nonbinary.

“I don’t know why Eli-san asked me of all people, but it didn’t take much thought to put your name forward.”

Maki scrunches her eyebrows. “I don’t know either, she would never tell me.”

Kanan is lying, but Maki doesn’t need to know that – the less people that do, the happier they are.

“Well, it is what it is. I’ll never understand those scheming business types,” they say with a performative sigh.

Maki chortles. “You say that like you aren’t at your boss’ heel twenty-four seven.”

“Am _not_.”

“Oh, don’t be a five-year-old.” Maki gives them a disapproving look, even if she doesn’t actually mean it. “People talk around here, you know, and they don’t exactly say she’s easy to work with.”

Kanan can’t help but feel upset that anyone would be talking poorly of Dia, loathe as they are to admit it. “I mean… she’s definitely a hard ass,” Kanan admits hesitantly. “I don’t even think she realizes how much effort I put in for her sake, even if she sees my hours. But you haven’t worked with her, you don’t know Aqours like I do.”

Maki raises an eyebrow. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Dia just cares. A lot, you know? She acts like she’s always keeping everyone at a distance, but she treats her staff like family. When she lets others see that side of her, she’s really something else.” Kanan sighs wistfully.

“You sound like you’re in love with her, Kanan.”

Kanan feels themself heat up at that. “She’s just a friend, is all.”

“Whatever,” Maki says as she rolls her eyes. “Just don’t let her work you to the bone, alright?”

“I do what I can for her. She needs the help.”

Much to Kanan’s appreciation, Maki doesn’t seem particularly interested in putting in the effort to press her point and changes the subject entirely.

“By the way, why are you even here, Kanan?”

“Dia needed to talk to Eli-san about some things, so she brought me along as backup.” Kanan shrugs. They’d rather be back at Aqours hanging with the crew, but they don’t mind getting the chance to slack off on the clock.

“Really? I heard she hates this place. Can’t believe she’d come here willingly.”

“Yeah, well,” Kanan sighs, “it’s a bit of a love-hate relationship. Par for the course, really.” Their eyes scan around the dance floor as they talk, watching a scattered group of partiers have the time of their lives when the house song playing over the speakers launches into a drop. Even during its off-hours, µ’s manages to create an energy that few clubs could ever hope to match. Despite their pride in Aqours, Kanan would have a hard time not being impressed by it.

They know Dia is too – she’s hardly the type to be honest to herself about it, even though she might as well worship the ground Eli walks on.

“Anyways, enough of that,” they say to steer the conversation towards something much more interesting to the two of them. “I figured that I’d pick your brain about our new speaker system while I’m here.”

Maki looks intrigued. “Alright, shoot.”

They spend the next hour vehemently arguing the finer points of speaker setups, and Kanan suddenly feels at peace for the first time today. They put everything they have into Aqours, physically and emotionally – there’s precious little time in their life not taken up by something peripheral to Dia, if not Dia herself. Being able to get away from that to simply talk shop with an old friend is a powerful creature comfort.

Suddenly, though, a short woman in pigtails paces quickly over to their booth, a frown on her face. “Maki! You were supposed to help Nico taste test some new signature cocktails, did you forget?”

Kanan sees the faintest hint of a smile flash across Maki’s face before it’s replaced by the usual discontentment. “I wish I _had_.”

Nico seems unaffected, though, and just grabs Maki’s hand. “Come on, there’s a free Bloody Mary in it for you!”

Kanan laughs when Maki perks up at that. “Kill ‘em dead, Maki-chan.”

And with a sheepish wave, Maki leaves Kanan to sink into the booth, waiting for Dia’s return.


	2. Side B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dia meets her maker. Kanan presses F. Mari shows the fuck up.

-Track 05-

Dia eyes her surroundings anxiously as she steps into the brightly lit office of her old mentor. Everything has stayed remarkably the same since she was last here; the furnishings are simple yet cozy with a light color scheme, and the lighting shines brightly. It adds up to an inviting atmosphere, one that might easily disarm even the most astute.

Not a Kurosawa, though, _goddamnit._

Eli gestures to the chair in front of her desk with that radiant smile she’s always had. “It’s been such a long time, Dia-san, how are you?”

Dia takes a minute to clear her throat before placing herself in the chair. “I’m doing well, Eli-sensei. I appreciate you meeting with me without any notice.”

“Oh, you’re so formal,” Eli huffs. Dia’s pretty sure it’s just for show. “I told you that you’re always welcome here, didn’t I?” If that’s even true, Dia decides not to comment on the fact that she had been placed on a blacklist. Instead, she silently watches as Eli walks over to a cabinet and grabs a clear glass container from a shelf. “How about a quick drink?”

Dia blanches. “No thank you, Eli-sensei.”

“Formal again,” Eli tuts. “We’re equals, you know. Take it and loosen up a bit.” She pours some of the clear liquid into a crystal glass and hands it to Dia. She’s intimately familiar with Dia’s disdain for hard spirits, yet she smiles all the same.

When Dia sniffs it, her nose reflexively scrunches to avoid the burning sensation. “Vodka?”

“Imported from Moscow,” Eli says with a beam of confidence.

Eli Ayase is hardly shy about her heritage, after all. She had moved back and forth between Russia and Japan before settling down in the former country, cutting her teeth on the merciless Moscow nightclub scene. Once she had the business acumen, she eventually moved back to Japan to start her own club a number of years ago.

Dia really wishes that Eli had picked another city to do so, but that’s old news by now.

She takes a sip of the vodka, doing her best to maintain her composure as the burning sensation coats the back of her throat. She abhors this stuff, but it’s a trick Eli herself taught her: if you know you’re in a position of power, assert yourself. Put the other person in their place, make sure they know who’s holding all the cards. Power moves like that are the kind of thing Dia admires Eli so much for, but it’s pathetic for any businessperson to be put on the other end of that situation. Yet here she is, kowtowing to her biggest competitor because she can’t handle a business by herself.

Still, there’s a job to do, self-pity aside. After pulling a coaster to her and placing the glass on top of it, she hoists her briefcase onto the desk and clicks it open intently.

“Oh, is this what you came here for?” Eli has a curious lit to her voice, but her neutral expression betrays nothing.

Inside the briefcase is a dizzyingly large array of financial documents and various other business-related papers. Each one has anywhere from a few sentences to most of their contents blacked out, as if Dia is transporting state secrets. It certainly feels like it to her, at least, especially considering who she’s currently presenting them to.

Eli spins the briefcase towards her and takes out the papers, sorting through all of them wordlessly. Dia fidgets a bit in the meantime, searching the room with her eyes just to give them something to do. The shelf behind Eli is stacked with all of the same memorabilia that Dia remembers from back when she used to frequent this office years ago, during the time when Eli had taken Dia under her wing. There’s even something akin to a family photo of the club’s staff with everyone huddled close and smiling, Eli and Nozomi looking over them like proud parents.

Aqours is certainly a family of its own, but Dia feels a sharp pang of envy at how close Eli is with all of her staff.

In that moment, Eli sighs and gently puts down the stack of papers. It’s not a good sigh – Dia knows that much.

“Look, you want my honest opinion about these, right?”

Dia nods firmly.

Eli reaches to the back of her head, adjusting her hair tie. “I’ll start with the big problem; you’re paying them too much.” She stares directly at Dia, the kind of uncompromising stare that doesn’t leave her room to wiggle. “ _Way_ too much. I mean, how could you possibly afford to pay your bouncer a salary this high?”

“Find me someone else with _both_ You-san’s muscle and fashion sense,” Dia retorts, “and I’ll consider doing otherwise. Aqours’ whole image relies on her instinct.”

“Well, I’ll grant you that.” She shuffles through the pile for a brief moment, grumbling until she pulls out a sheet that contains condensed versions of everyone’s resumes. “But where did you get these people? I would have thought that you’d know better than this. Your bartender put a twitch stream as her prior work experience, your lighting director listed her mom and _three_ sisters as references. This is ridiculous.” Despite her criticism, Eli’s voice doesn’t have much bite to it. She sounds more concerned than anything else.

“They do their job well.” Dia is curt, ready to defend herself if needed. This is a topic she doesn’t like to budge on – she has her reasons.

“I’m not your enemy, Dia,” Eli reminds her with an almost motherly tone, and suddenly Dia’s self-respect alarms go off.

“I don’t like being patronized, Eli-sensei,” she snaps. Dia recognizes the irony of that sentence, as Eli clearly does if the slight smirk on her face says anything, but she leaves it be. She’s aggravated now, and her mind is racing a mile a minute. “I know perfectly well what I’m doing and I’ll pay them whatever I damn well please if you’re going to poach them like a fucking vulture the second they become dissatisfied with-“

_Ah, there it is._ The one thing Dia told herself she wouldn’t bring up.

Eli doesn’t react, though, instead shuffling through the documents as if Dia hadn’t said anything at all. It’s another power play that Eli had taught her, and it’s working – the silence is suffocating. The whole while, Dia panics as internally as she can manage. She knew this was a bad idea.

“Why are you here, Dia-san?” When Eli finally speaks up after what feels like minutes, Dia is jolted upright from her thoughts.

Dia furls her eyebrows. “Is this some bizarre means of making me admit that I need your help again?”

“That’s exactly the thing,” Eli elaborates. “You don’t.” She picks up the glass of vodka she had poured earlier, swirling around the last of the clear spirit before sipping it. “You have an accountant. You have parents that used to run Aqours. You have Kanan-san. You have dignity. And yet…” she says as she looks Dia directly in the eyes, “you’re here letting me walk all over you for a bit of free advice. We’re both businesswomen, Dia-san, in a world where the deck has been stacked against us. You’re better than this. So again, why are you here?”

Dia shifts uncomfortably in her seat, not liking where the conversation is currently headed but unable to do anything about it. She isn’t exactly partial to not being in control.

Of course, she does owe Eli some honestly. She can admit that to herself, if nothing else.

“I can’t go crawling back to my parents, not like this. They act like it’s not the case, but I know they won’t give me the rest of the family businesses if I’m not absolutely fucking _perfect_.” Her words are spiteful, a quantifier of the existential dread seated deep in the pit of her stomach. She doesn’t have nearly as much maneuvering room as she needs, not as long as she’s a slave to her parents’ looming shadow.

“As for the accountant…” Dia trails off as she starts subconsciously biting a nail. A look from Eli reminds her of what she’s doing, and Dia sheepishly puts her hand back in her lap before continuing. “Their one condition when they gave me the club was that their accountant would stay in charge. I know he’s reporting everything back to them.”

“So it’s functionally the same thing?”

“Exactly.”

Eli doesn’t quiz her further, and she has no need to. Eli was with Dia during the worst of her relationship with her parents. She saw. She knows.

Besides, Dia is grateful that Eli isn’t pressing her on the implications of one unspoken detail – she could’ve just hired an outside accountant. She didn’t, though. She wanted to see her mentor.

Soon after, Eli lifts herself out of her chair without explanation and makes her way over to the shelf, gently removing the picture of her and her staff that had been deliberately placed there for all to see – a clear indication of what the club is and what it means to her.

“I saw you looking at this earlier.” She sets it down in front of Dia and returns to her seat. “Jealous?”

Dia scoffs. “Why would I be jealous?”

Eli doesn’t seem to approve of that reply, though, and leans forward in her chair, elbows on the desk and fingers laced together in a very _I’m totally a serious business owner_ pose. Or something like that, Dia assumes. She’s still working on hers.

“You know what your problem is? You’re weak when you need to be a hardass, and you’re a stone wall when you need to be vulnerable.” She picks the picture up again, gazing at it fondly. “I got to this point by picking my battles and knowing my priorities.” Suddenly, her features harden as she looks at Dia again. “You can’t do either. You do your damndest to not get close to your employees, but then you bend over backwards to give them benefits that they haven’t earned. You want to know why I could afford to pull Tsubasa- _chan_ out from under you?” she says, her voice progressively more booming and assertive. Dia can’t help but notice the way Eli deliberately accents the honorific, as if it’s being spit at Dia. “I could pay her more than you without breaking a sweat _and_ make her feel like she has a home here.”

“All for what?” Dia asks. “To show me up, some power play? Teaching me a lesson? _Why?_ ”

Eli, looking suddenly agitated, starts to lose control of her voice. “A lesson? It’s BUSINESS. I’m trying to put Aqours out of business.” She pauses, stares Dia down. “Are you listening to me? Read my lips. _Out. Of. Business._ ”

Dia begins to respond with a raised finger, but Eli interrupts her as she continues on her diatribe. “I took precious time out of the early years of this business to help the heiress of my _competitor_ , Dia-san. I put time and energy into you because I saw your potential and I knew you wouldn’t be able to reach it without the support you weren’t getting. I could have brought Aqours to its knees, but I helped a fellow businesswoman.

“So don’t take that charity and then act like I’m singling you out. I owe you nothing less than the respect of a competitor, and I’m trying to treat you as such. Stop acting so fucking childish about it.” Her words are pure venom now, a rapid succession of viper bites puncturing what little remains of Dia’s ego.

There’s a moment of silence as Eli slowly processes the bomb she just dropped. Her face softens gradually, such a subtle shift of remorse as to seem nonexistent. She stands up, moves over to the cabinet, and pours herself another shot of vodka. It’s gone in one swift motion.

Dia, meanwhile, fixes her eyes directly in front of her, every ounce of mental capacity going towards maintaining herself. The scared little kid in the back of her mind tells her now would be a good time to start crying and run away. She does her best not to listen.

Eli sits back down, slinks into her chair a bit. “Look, I-“

“I’m grateful for everything you did for me, Eli-san.” Dia purposefully interrupts Eli, not wanting the pity apology that she knows was about to come. She’s better than that. Eli’s eyebrows are raised, the deliberate choice of honorific not passing by her. She doesn’t start talking again, though. “As far as I’m concerned, you’ve done more than my parents ever did. I admire you, you know. I’m trying to live up to the example you’ve set for me.”

Maybe Dia came here because she finds some peace of mind in the presence of her mentor, the person who believed in her when her parents refused to. They’re the kind of deeply dysfunctional people bred by wealth, the kind that are gripped by paranoia and refuse to see anything other than the worst in those around them. Fittingly, they’ve hated Dia for years. Not because of anything she ever did, though – they began demonizing her the day she came out to them as a trans woman. The imaginary little boy in their head was their perfect little angel, but Dia? They treated her like their greatest disappointment.

Despite that, they eventually came around enough for there to be a shallow veneer of acceptance these days. They never hated her enough to disown her, anyways. They still need an heir, a role that everyone knows Ruby would never be able to fill. Their feelings towards her are cold enough, though, to expect her to become the perfect heiress without them lifting a finger. So Dia put in a year of free work at µ’s while Eli taught her everything worth knowing about the industry. She became the perfect daughter, even if they never wanted her to – even if she needed the help of their competitor. Her pride has always been too important for her to let them down in any other way.

But that time is long gone now, and things haven’t exactly worked out according to plan. Dia silently reaches across Eli’s desk and takes the papers, placing them in the briefcase and closing it in a swift motion. Enough words have been exchanged, she thinks. It’s time to go.

“Wait,” Eli interjects. Dia stops midway through lifting herself off of her seat and sits back down. “Do you know why I had Nozomi put you and Kanan-san on that blacklist?”

Dia frowns. “I assumed it was to tip the scales, catch me off guard if I ever came by.”

“No. Well, a little,” Eli admits sheepishly. “But it was really because I wanted to know that if you were going to come here, you’d have a good enough reason to do so that you’d be willing to put up with Nozomi.” She smiles at her mention of her wife. Dia groans internally but knows better than to vocalize that. “You really want to know what to do? If you won’t cut corners where necessary, fine. Don’t. Throw a Hail Mary instead, try something stupid you wouldn’t otherwise consider. Desperation forces you to think outside the box. That can be an opportunity, but only if you make it one.”

“That’s exactly what I’m planning on doing.” Dia’s mind flashes to Mari Ohara, the plan B for Aqours that she’s too stubborn not to try.

Eli smiles furtively. “Then you really don’t need my advice after all, do you?” Dia senses that there’s some meaning to Eli’s words on a much larger scale, but puts the thought aside. Eli reaches to a booklet on her desk and rips out a page, handing it to Dia. “Stay for a while and have some drinks with Kanan-san on me. Show them some appreciation, relax a little yourself. It would be a worthy investment of your time.”

Dia wants to object, to say that she has the business to attend to, but she stops herself before her mouth opens and takes the slip of paper with both hands. “Thank you, Eli-san.”

“Just remember to stop by if you ever want to have a glass of vodka with me. You’re always welcome, for real this time.”

Dia smiles politely as she finally gets up and turns to walk out of the office. As soon as the door closes behind her, she doesn’t even stop to process what exactly just happened. She has one thing in mind; make it over to Kanan, unwind, try not to pop a blood vessel from the stress.

All that goes out the window, though, the minute that Tsubasa Kira’s figure enters the periphery of her vision. Suddenly, all she can think about is the woman who’s given her so much trouble. She thinks about what she’ll _finally_ say to put this traitor in her place and show her that Dia Kurosawa means business, and-

“Dia-san!” Tsubasa runs up to her, a warm smile on her face. “I’m sure you’re busy, but I just wanted to say hello.”

And, of course, all that animosity gets buried underneath Dia’s pesky little inability to be rude to anyone, traitor or otherwise.

“Tsubasa-san, it’s nice to see you,” Dia replies with plastic smile and an outstretched hand that Tsubasa eagerly shakes. “I trust that you’re being treated well here?”

“I am, Eli-san and Nozomi-san have been very kind to me.” She pauses for a moment, and Dia can’t help but notice how Tsubasa, normally suave and collected, looks almost reserved. Her language is even more measured than usual, a reflection of the strained tension hanging over them both. “How has business been? Is everyone well at Aqours?”

Dia’s pretty sure Tsubasa knows the answer to that. She’s frustrated that the woman who put her in her current predicament would look for false reassurances, but she knows better than to not give Tsubasa what she wants. Burning bridges does nothing for her, and she already almost torched one today.

“Aqours is doing well, and we’re all wishing you the best, Tsubasa-san.” Dia bows diplomatically, vowing to escape this stilted conversation before the stress gives her a migraine. “Now, I don’t mean to be unfriendly, but I need to discuss business with Kanan-san.” She flicks her eyes to Kanan, who is preoccupied with their phone in the distance.

“Of course, I won’t hold you up.” Dia tries to read the expression on Tsubasa’s face, but her former DJ has always eluded her understanding – now more than ever.

They linger on an awkward silence that lasts much longer than it reasonably should before Dia thinks to actually dismiss herself. “Well,” she says, “I’ll see you around.”

“Right, of course.”

* * *

-Track 06-

When Dia makes her way to the booth where Kanan is sitting, she can feel her technician’s concerned look piercing through her. She sits down on the opposite side, slouching in defeat.

“So?” Kanan smiles sympathetically as they stuff their phone back into their pocket. “Did you get what you wanted?”

“I don’t know. I’m not even sure I know what I wanted in the first place anymore.” Dia sighs and tosses the slip of paper she had been handed onto the table. “Eli-san opened a tab for us on the house.”

Kanan raises their eyebrows at the use of honorific much in the same way that Eli had, but Dia doesn’t feel like explaining anything. “Don’t ask. Like I said,” she points to the piece of paper, “you’ve got free booze. Unfortunately, so do I.”

Kanan laughs at that, fully aware of Dia’s distain for anything other than wine. “Have you ever just considered telling her you don’t like drinking outside of your apartment?”

Dia grimaces. “She knows, trust me. This is just her way of proving a point. I already had some vodka earlier.”

“Then… don’t have any more?” Kanan looks at her, bemused. “We should probably get back to the club anyways.”

“That would be rude, Kanan-san.” She can’t deny that they’re right, and she knows how damning it must appear for Aqours’ owner to be seen patronizing µ’s, but she’s stubborn. Dia sits up and takes the slip with both hands. “We’re going to accept her hospitality. Can I get you something?” She has to force the words from her mouth, and she’s pretty sure Kanan notices.

Thankfully, Kanan seems sympathetic enough to play along and not poke any fun at her, much to her gratitude. “Hmm,” they ponder for a short second. “Rye whiskey on the rocks sounds great right now.”

Dia turns her nose up. “I knew you’d order something disgusting.” She smiles a bit, though. It wouldn’t be Kanan if they weren’t drinking something that would make the average person gag.

Kanan waves her off, and soon she comes back with two drinks in hand after fighting for Nico’s attention at the bar: whiskey for Kanan, a glass of pinot grigio for her. She knows that she should _probably_ be back at the club, but she can’t deny that the break is good for her mental well-being at the moment. Kanan seems to particularly be enjoying the chance to unwind on the clock, having sunken into the booth and loosened up quite a bit.

They might be a bit _too_ loose by the third round of drinks, Dia thinks.

“Hey Dia,” they lean in to whisper as if whatever they want to say is horribly taboo, “I was talking to You yesterday and she told me something really interesting…”

Dia raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

Kanan leans in even closer, so much so that Dia can smell the whiskey on their breath. “She said you were checking me out the other day while I was setting up the new DJ booth.” They giggle and wink, prompting Dia to heat up at the knowledge that she had been caught.

“I was just… keeping an eye on you.” It’s a flimsy excuse, she knows. “It l-“ Dia hiccups before picking back up her sentence. “It looked like hard work at the time,” she explains feebly. Dia’s had a fair amount to drink herself, having somehow gotten it in her head that she would be showing Eli up by loosening up. Of course, that was probably Eli’s intention. She scolds herself for falling into that trap before going for another sip of wine anyways.

Kanan graces Dia with a gentle smile, their cheeks flushed from the booze. They gaze at her. “You know, it’s been a while since we…” they falter for a minute, giving Dia a look as if she’s supposed to finish the sentence herself. “ _You know._ ”

_Oh._ “Right… that.”

Dia feels herself gulping when Kanan looks at her with those eyes, their deep violet trained directly at her. She tries to meet them, to show that she means business right now, but they’re just so _piercing_ and she can’t help but take fleeting glances at the private room right next to them. People are beginning to pack in for the night, but it’s not so full that the side rooms are off limits yet.

Eli wouldn’t mind if one is borrowed, right?

Eventually Kanan seems to notice what’s going through Dia’s head, and they begin to look away. Dia doesn’t want that, though, she wants those eyes to never stop looking at her. Maybe it’s the booze, but she suddenly feels too invincible to give a shit. She’s _Dia Kurosawa_ , damn it.

She gets up, tries to ignore the way her hand is shaking, and grabs their own.

“Come on, let’s go.” She’s not sure if that’s a command or a request, but it passes through her lips just the same. Kanan certainly doesn’t seem to mind the difference anyways. They hastily down the last pool of whiskey in their glass before allowing themself to be tugged along. As soon as the two of them enter the room and lock the door behind them (Eli is a shrewd business owner – she knows what people are using these rooms for), Dia pins Kanan against a wall and takes a moment to stare at the person in front of her.

Their relationship is so hazy, blurred, confusing. It makes Dia uncomfortable, but she wouldn’t know what to do about it.

Finding a rationale for whatever _this_ is would be a waste of time anyways – she just tries to focus on the fire in their eyes instead. After checking for any sign of hesitation or unwillingness in Kanan’s face, she presses her lips against their own. It’s not forceful, but it’s a statement nevertheless.

Maybe Dia is just yearning for some control after her conversation with Eli. Maybe she just needs to know that she isn’t powerless. Maybe she just wants the person in front of her.

“Kanan,” she moans against their lips.

“Say it again.” There’s the faintest hint of a slur in Kanan’s voice.

Dia obeys and whispers their name again, stretching out each syllable.

“That sounds so much better without that stupid _-san_ tacked on.” The two of them are hastily taking each other’s clothes off now, articles haphazardly scattered about the room. Kanan reaches to a discreet bowl of condoms on the side-table and hands one intently to her. “Don’t you think, Dia?”

“You can’t just be Kanan,” Dia impresses on them. “Not with Aqours. You’re just my employee. I’m your _boss_.”

“Not to me.”

Dia doesn’t know how to respond to the implications of that confession, delivered so recklessly. So she doesn’t.

Instead, she focuses on Kanan’s breath against her skin, tries to ignore how disgusting the cushions in this room probably are when the two of them sit side by side, leaning into each other. She contents herself with the sensation of Kanan’s bare skin and lips pressed against her own, the rough fabric of bandages scraping against her bra.

“You told me you’d gotten a new binder.” The words carry something between disappointment and concern. Their old one was some ratty old thing that Dia had been appalled by, so she had taken cash out of the club’s rainy day fund and forced them to buy a new one. Still, she’d have rather Kanan used the old one than risked their health binding with bandages.

“Ordered it online. Didn’t fit right,” they mutter between soft bites against Dia’s collarbone. “I’ll return it when I have time.”

“I just don’t want you to hurt yourself.” Dia isn’t sure what to make of that when it’s the closest someone as emotionally repressed as her comes to tenderness. Maybe she should give Kanan the next day off, she wonders idly, but she leaves it be. Kanan would just tell her it’s not her place, even if they probably wouldn’t mean it, so Dia accepts that the only business she has with them right now is where her hands are leading her.

They’re just friends, anyways. Work friends. Who fuck sometimes. _Fuck buddies?_ Dia doesn’t like how the crassness of those words tastes. _Intercourse acquaintances._ That’s better.

She needs someone like Kanan, no matter how much she would prefer to be an asexual, asocial being. She needs someone who gets her coffee when she’s about to pass out, despite having better things to do. Someone who doesn’t look at her like she’s the party police whenever she walks by. Someone who can empathize when she needs to go to the bathroom to fix her tuck.

It’s the little things. And if Kanan doesn’t wince or look anything other than pleased when she takes off her panties and the tuck comes undone, all the better. It’s nice knowing someone doesn’t give a damn whether or not she’s had surgery – Kanan lets her simply exist as she is, trans woman or not.

So they fuck. It’s quick and it’s messy, but it’s the realest thing Dia has had in a while. They grip each other tight and spill each other’s names out over and over as Dia releases all the pent-up frustration and stress of the last few months. When she collapses on Kanan at the end of it all, those words she could never seem to spit out finally come up to the surface.

“Thank you, Kanan.”

Kanan turns to her, a lazy smile on their face. “Always.”

They lay there for a minute, Dia resting her head in the crook of Kanan’s shoulder. She focuses on the rise and fall of Kanan’s chest, their labored breathing.

After taking that brief moment to breathe and gather her thoughts, it occurs to Dia that she’s laying ass-naked on a filthy couch in the establishment of her biggest competitor. Next, she realizes that she had planned on being back to Aqours an hour and a half ago. She swears under her breath and bolts upright, searching the room for where her clothes went. The buzz of the alcohol has finally worn off, leaving Dia with an inescapable sense of unease – things were nice while they lasted, at least.

“Looking for these?” When Dia turns around to meet Kanan’s voice, she sees them holding the wrinkled remains of her suit. Dia grumbles but happily takes them, quickly sliding on each garment as soon as she spots her blouse and underwear on the table.

Kanan, meanwhile, takes their time. They grab their phone from the pocket of their jeans on the floor – Dia catches the unmistakable hint of baby blue on their screen.

“We need to be getting back, Kanan-san. You can look at your feed later.”

“The word ‘afterglow’ really doesn’t mean anything to you, does it?” Kanan replies dryly.

Dia merely lets out a dignified huff as she tugs at her suit, making sure it sets right. She needs to look her best as they leave – µ’s must be packed by now, and she doesn’t want anyone thinking anything uncouth of the club’s biggest competitor.

Kanan spends another minute scrolling through their phone, occasionally pausing to giggle under their breath at something or another until they finally get dressed. Dia is impatient by now, even more so when it dawns on her that Kanan is doing this specifically to get under her skin.

Her impatience is made even worse, then, when Kanan decides to excuse themself to use the bathroom. Dia wants to groan but restrains herself, knowing well that they probably should after what the two of them had just done.

She wouldn’t even mind all that much, but Nozomi manages to evaporate from thin air right next to her and she instantly regrets even coming here.

“Dia-chan! You look like you’ve had lots of fun at our fine establishment.” She has something akin to a shit-eating grin across her face, only restrained slightly.

Dia decides to play ignorant, begging that Nozomi hadn’t just caught them going in or out of the VIP room. “We did, in fact. I’m very grateful for the hospitality, and my compliments to Nico-san on the drinks.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’m going to share that with her. Don’t want to let it get to her head,” Nozomi says with a sigh. “I have to thank you myself, you know.”

Dia is left bemused, unsure of what she could have possibly done to warrant any gratitude after the disaster that was her meeting earlier. “For what?”

“For making my Elicchi’s day, of course!”

Dia frowns. “I don’t know what Eli-san told you, but it wasn’t a very productive conversation. I wasted her time and I wasted my own.”

Nozomi just smiles, though – it’s that same cryptic smile that Dia has always hated, the one that makes her feel as if Nozomi knows something she doesn’t. “On the contrary, Dia-chan. Not everything needs to be business. Besides, some things are best left in the open, are they not?”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Nozomi says as she ruffles Dia’s hair, “that the two of you can’t have a connection if you don’t know what that connection is anymore. Elicchi cares about you quite a lot, you know. You remind her of herself when she was your age.”

“And I’m grateful to her, but-“

“’ _But’_ nothing. You wouldn’t have come if you didn’t care about her too. Rail on us all you want, but we’ll always have a place in your heart,” she interrupts Dia smugly.

Nozomi _knows_ that Dia hates this place, Dia’s sure of it. Still, as much as she hates to admit it, Nozomi isn’t wrong.

Dia sighs, mustering up what little sincerity she has left in her by now. “I suppose I do have an appreciation for everyone at µ’s, as much as I abhor its lack of authenticity or charm.”

Nozomi grins and pulls Dia into an involuntary hug, completely ignoring the back half of that sentence. “That’s more like it!” When she finally releases Dia, who is left gasping for breath, she waves. “I should let you get back to your club. Thanks for coming!” As she turns away, she pauses and faces Dia again for a moment. “And if you’re going to fuck here, I can really recommend a better room to do it in. The one by the bar even has a bed!”

And just like that, Nozomi Tojo leaves Dia speechless. As always.

“Hey, are you ready to head out?” Kanan approaches from behind Dia and puts a hand on her shoulder. Dia yelps in surprise and whips around, nearly knocking them over.

She looks at them with daggers in her eyes. “You didn’t hear that.” She pauses, her anger twists to panic. “You didn’t, right?”

Kanan looks bemused. “Hear what?”

“Good,” Dia huffs. “Good.”

Kanan just smiles. “Come on, let’s get going. By the way,” they add, “you should check your phone when you get a second.”

Confused but curious, Dia scrolls through her notifications when they exit out the front. She initially doesn’t see anything in the myriad of texts and emails that are constantly flooding her inbox, but eventually one catches her eye – a text from Riko, dating from one hour ago:

_Riko Sakurauchi: Dia-san, incredible news! Ohara-san has already accepted our residency!_

Dia stares blankly at the brightly lit screen, attempting to process all the implications of those two sentences. Mari Ohara, a woman who publicly brags about paying other people to do all of the DJing work for her. Mari Ohara, a woman who represents everything about the commodification and dumbing-down of music that Dia abhors. _That_ Mari Ohara is now Aqours’ _raison d'être_ as far as business is concerned.

But whether Dia likes it or not, her Hail Mary has been thrown. Now it’s just a matter of waiting to see whether or not she’s made the biggest mistake of her brief career.

* * *

-Track 07 (Interlude)-

At 5:44am on a Thursday, flight OH 437 from Berlin arrives at Kansai International Airport slightly ahead of schedule. When the gate opens its boarding doors, a single woman strides out into the terminal. Not that it would ever be any other way, of course – aside from the two imposing men that follow shortly behind her, her family had reserved every single seat on the flight. They own the airline, after all. Her family’s fleet of private planes may be unavailable, but a woman of her caliber wouldn’t be caught dead flying with anyone other than her entourage. It’s veritable career suicide, really.

Still, Mari Ohara can’t deny that she appreciates some signs of life, even if the terminal is a little grungy for her tastes.

_“Spiegel, bitte!”_ Mari shouts in a resonant tone that carries itself effortlessly, and one of the men behind her is instantly at her side with a mirror.

“ _Danke_ , Fritz.” She checks her hair, the striking blonde a beacon in a sea of brown and black heads. Of course, it’s absolutely perfect, as is her svelte suit – she had made a connection in Milan specifically to stop by a tailor that her father _swears_ by, and it was only ten grand to boot.

She hands the mirror back and begins making her way through the terminal. Her purposeful stride is enough to part the crowds so that she doesn’t have to push or shove her way through (it might just be the bodyguards, but that hypothesis isn’t nearly as fun). She had received an email from her manager telling her that the two of them would be meeting a representative from Aqours at a limo, but she has time to spare thanks to her early arrival, which means there’s work to be done.

Work, naturally, meaning shopping. She makes her way to the baggage claim, making sure to take some extra time in the concourse area. It would be a crime against humanity (and fashion) if she didn’t buy some Chanel, after all. And maybe some Gucci. And maybe she should poke her head into a few other stores. She’s worth it.

By the time she reaches baggage claim with her bodyguards’ arms weighed down by bags embossed with luxury fashion logos, her manager is already waiting for her with her bags.

“ _Gut gemacht,_ Kasumi! I knew I could count on you.”

Mari can see the scowl that her manager is trying to hide, but it doesn’t get to her in the slightest – she’s more than used to Kasumi Nakasu’s… demeanor. Hell, it’s almost endearing by now.

Almost.

“Mari-sama, it’s wonderful to see you!” Kasumi shouts through gritted teeth. “Maybe I had been misinformed,” she says despite them both knowing she hadn’t been, “but I was under the impression that you were supposed to be here half an hour ago. I was _also_ informed that your flight got in twenty minutes early.” She smiles courteously – her teeth are still gritted.

Mari hums in mock contemplation before settling on her response. “Maybe!” She waves over one of her bodyguards and digs a luxurious wooden box out of one of the bags. Soon a pair of shades is extracted from it and placed on Kasumi’s face. “Here, they’re designer!” she says in a sing-song voice.

Evidently, the bribe is more than enough to placate her manager, judging by the lack of any retort. An Ohara always gets what they want, after all.

They quickly sit down, her bodyguards more than enough to keep the small crowd of fawning fans at bay as Kasumi charges headlong through what she presumably meant to be a much less hurried spiel. Mari catches something about riders in her contract and accommodations, but despite her best efforts, she finds her focus shifting towards the email app on her phone screen.

When she first signed her contract with Aqours, its owner had left her an obtusely formal email:

_“Dear Ohara-san,_

_I am positively elated to hear of your impending residency at our establishment. I promise that I will do everything in my capacity as owner and proprietor of Aqours to make your working experience as pleasant and painless as possible for someone of your caliber and notability. Is there anything I can offer you at present for your arrival?_

_Cordially,_

_Dia Kurosawa”_

Her response had come quickly.

_“dia,_

_i'd looooooooooooooooooove some fast food! extra hash browns!_

_xoxo mari”_

Mari can’t help but snicker a bit at the reply, despite the voice in the back of her head telling her to be worried about this new gig. She had decided on Aqours because of its reputation as _the_ party hotspot for people who matter in the Kansai region, but that decision won’t prove to be a good one if everyone there winds up as stiff as its owner. Her blasé attitude hasn’t exactly won her many friends in the past, and she had been really hoping to change that.

Maybe she shouldn’t have started things off so flippantly, then, but she can’t help wanting to have a little fun now and then. Not that it matters much by this point; she doesn’t have time to consternate about her new boss right now. Kasumi quickly picks up on her snickering and coughs passive-aggressively until Mari’s attention is drawn back to her.

“What could possibly be more important than what I have to say?”

Mari gleefully holds up her phone screen to Kasumi, who reads the emails with an increasingly exasperated expression.

“Was that your idea of a joke?” Kasumi deadpans.

Mari grins. “Pretty much! The owner seems so stuffy, it’s _sehr langweilig_.” She stretches her arms out and yawns for dramatic effect. “I wanted to see if I could get a reaction out of her.”

“I worked hard to net you a contract this good,” Kasumi huffs. “You are _not_ going to piss off the owner over a bag of junk food.”

Mari just smiles her same old radiant smile. “This wouldn’t be much fun otherwise though, _nein_? Life is for living!”

“And my paycheck tells me that life is about making people take you seriously, which you’ve made the hardest job on the fucking planet.”

“Then I’ll just have to make your paycheck bigger!”

Suddenly, Mari’s philosophy doesn’t seem to bother Kasumi nearly as much, her manager practically foaming at the mouth over the hypothetical raise. Not that she’s in it for the money, per say; Kasumi has never been able to resist the allure of the Ohara name being part of her clientele. Mari could shovel dirt into her mouth and she’d be grateful for it.

Granted, Mari isn’t sure she could live without someone as crafty as Kasumi. All she needs to do is make a show out of buying some Gucci and Kasumi works her magic - one Instagram post and everyone’s fawning over the effortlessly perfect heiress, one scandalous tabloid article and everyone’s arguing over the snobby playgirl. Good or bad coverage, it’s all a purposeful part of her image. While Mari may work hard on her sets, image is what gets people into clubs and opens up professional doors.

In fact, it’s the reason why Mari needs two imposing bodyguards to keep the hoard of fans looking on at her from mobbing her. It doesn’t help that People just dropped a cover story on a public affair Kasumi had staged between her and some bigshot German football player.

As Mari looks on at the crowd, though, one face sticks out from the rest – a person fighting their way through the crowd, a sign in hand: _“Mari Ohara – Aqours”_. Just what she had been looking for.

She elbows Kasumi sharply. “Kasuuuumi! It’s time to get rolling!”

Kasumi jolts out of her financially-induced stupor, seemingly confused until she spots the club’s representative. She grumbles. “I specifically told them the sign needed to be at least two by four feet with your logo printed on it. That’s fucking _sharpie._ ”

Mari just laughs and pulls Kasumi up with her. “I think it’s cute!”

“Whatever you say, boss.”

And with a wave to the person waiting for them, Mari gets ready for the next chapter of her life to unfold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the patience, and a huge shoutout to [Ottermelon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ottermelon) for beta-reading this and guiding my writing in the right direction. I want to say that the wait for the next part will be fairly shorter, but I also don't want to jinx myself, so... just in case, maybe don't hold your breath.


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